


Four AM

by WhatIWasSuggesting



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Romance/Humor, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIWasSuggesting/pseuds/WhatIWasSuggesting
Summary: Life with Sherlock Holmes was an endless source of unexpected twists and turns leading to the most bizarre situations. This was certainly one of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Tami, who insisted I made good use of my own sleepwalking experiences.
> 
> A special thanks to my two wonderful betas, Katie and Alex, who helped me to put the final pieces together. Sherlock may be lost without his blogger, but I’d be lost without my betas.
> 
> Set in S2 between THoB and TRF.

  


He should have known, really. Of course he should have known. Life with Sherlock Holmes was an endless source of unexpected twists and turns leading to the most bizarre situations. This was certainly one of them. He wasn’t even sure what just happened.  


John was laying on the edge of his twin bed with his back pressed against the wall, his arms awkwardly tucked around him. He tried to take up as little space as possible to make room for Sherlock, who was perfectly still and sound asleep right next to him. Well, at the very least he now had an answer if somebody asked him if his was a snorer too. That had to count for something.  


Wait, no. No. This was ridiculous. What if Mrs. Hudson were to see them like this? Together in John’s tiny twin bed. He would lose the little credibility he had left. And Sherlock? He would probably just ignore the whole situation like nothing had happened, per usual. No, not this time. This was how rumors started. He reached for Sherlock’s shoulder and gently shook it.  


“Sherlock…” he whispered. The consulting detective remained still. John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock!” he hissed. His hand slid down and grabbed Sherlock’s arm, a little tighter than he had meant to.  


The younger man’s eyes snapped open. In his hurry to get up he tumbled out of the bed, pulling the blanket with him. John sat up and reached for the light on the nightstand. When he looked down, he met Sherlock’s confused gaze.  


“Sherlock!”  


“John.” He cast another confused look around the room. “What am I doing here?”  


“What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’? You came up here, woke me with your rambling about some case and then got into my bloody bed and fell asleep!”  


Sherlock looked at John blankly. “Oh.”  


“Oh? That is all you have to say? Oh?”  


Sherlock got to his feet, collecting himself before handing the blanket back to John. “Well John, I can assure you I did not fall asleep in your bed.”  


John snatched the blanket from Sherlock’s hands and snorted. “What? Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He turned around to make the bed, paused, and turned back to face his friend again. “Wait, you were definitely asleep.”  


“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”  


“Sherlock, stop playing games. It’s…” A glance at his watch revealed the time. He winced. “…four AM. Can we not do this?”  


Sherlock studied his face for a moment. “Of course. Goodnight, John.” He headed out.  


John felt at a loss for words. That was too easy. When his tired brain finally caught up with what happened, Sherlock had already disappeared downstairs. John looked at the blanket in his hands, threw it in a heap onto the bed and went after Sherlock.  


Sherlock hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights. John shuffled down the dark stairs. He stopped in the doorway of the living room. Sherlock stood by the window, looking out. His silhouette contrasted sharply against the light of the streetlamps pouring in. John lingered, taking in the scene.  


“I thought you wanted to sleep.”  


“Yes, but I also want to know what all that was about.”  


“Oh, come on. Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” Sherlock swung around. His gown swirled around him in a dramatic fashion. John folded his arms and waited. If he didn’t say anything, he was confident Sherlock would. God knew the detective couldn’t keep himself from showing off, even if his life depended on it. “Somnambulism, John. I sleepwalk. I don’t even remember going up to your room.” He made a dramatic gesture with his hands and dropped into his chair.  


John laughed. “Well, that does explain why you weren’t making much sense.” He shook his head. “Ever sleepwalked into somebody’s bed before?”  


“Not while they were in it.”  


“So you have?”  


“What does it matter? I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m sleepwalking through half of our conversations in the morning.”  


“I was wondering if I should feel special.” The words were supposed to sound playful, but when they left John’s lips they carried a serious undertone.  


Sherlock lifted his head from the back of the chair. “What?”  


John shuffled uneasily in the doorway and looked away. What indeed. What was he thinking? What was going on? What on earth was he doing? What was it they say again? Nothing good ever happens after two AM.  


Sherlock leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Of course you’re special. Who else would put up with me?”  


John laughed. He wasn’t going to argue with that. “I don’t mind.”  


“Not even when I confiscate your bed at four AM?”  


John looked at his feet. Did he mind? Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t barge into his room unannounced, or at least, she had never done so before. Odds were she would never find out. He looked up. Sherlock was still in his chair. John’s eyes lingered on his friend. He slowly shook his head.  


“I don’t mind.”  


Sherlock smiled. A genuine smile that reached his eyes. It was contagious. Their eyes met and Sherlock held John’s gaze.  


“Bed?”  


“Bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Don't forget to let me know what you thought of it in the comments. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Don’t own anything, especially not TFP. Just saying.


End file.
